Shake It Out
by IconofSelfIndulgence
Summary: An AU take on what occurs in 3x08. Thomas never gets his reference and is forced to a life on the streets in London. What happens when Mr. Carson finds him and brings him back to Downton Abbey? Eventual Thommy. Title from Florence and the Machine.
1. A Chance Encounter

A/N: After watching Downton Abbey religiously for the past week or so, it's come down to this... the need to write a fanfic. Do enjoy; I have much planned for Thomas. I've really no idea where this is going, but bear with me. I appreciate you coming along for the bumpy ride.

* * *

_I am done with my graceless heart,  
So tonight I'm gonna cut it out and then restart._

Carson said there was nothing he could do, so Thomas left.

He didn't want to wait around; certainly no one had wanted him there anyway. O'Brien had long since become his enemy, Bates was back, and even the sight of Jimmy made him feel sick.

So with no hope of a reference or future, Thomas Barrow left in the dark night, alone and scared. The tears trickled down his face as he walked away from Downton. He'd wanted to leave when no one else would notice he'd gone.

"Good riddance, they'll say," The former valet said under his breath, mocking himself. The old him, years ago, wouldn't have cared whether or not they liked him; however, the war had changed him. His encounters had changed him. He didn't want to die in a ditch somewhere or in prison –

He just wanted someone to care about him.

A crooked smile filled the raven-haired man's face as he turned to the place he had called home for the last ten years. He recalled his last words to Bates: "I am well and truly beaten." Although the man tried to help him, he decided to leave. It wasn't worth it, not with O'Brien's sharp tongue and devilish schemes. He was finished. His life was ruined.

"This isn't so bad, Thomas," he said, wiping his tears away, as he turned to continue his trek to town. "You've always wanted to go other places. Now's your chance."

* * *

He didn't get far.

Six months later he was a beggar in the streets of London. Homeless and helpless, he had resorted to stealing food and money off the people in the streets. It was autumn, and the weather was cold and wet.

His hand protested movement, instead causing him pain he did not need. It was bad enough that there was that eating feeling in his stomach all the time. He pulled the hat down over his face and sat by the corner of an alleyway, rubbing his arms.

When he'd first gotten to London, two blokes cornered him and took everything he had – even his watch, the only thing he had left of his family. He smiled ruefully at the thought. His father may have kicked him out; they may have not seen eye to eye, but Thomas had treasured that watch. It reminded him of the family he chose to remember, drinking warm milk and listening to Pa tell stories…

Thomas pinched the bridge of his nose, willing the memories away. He couldn't reminisce at a time like this. He hadn't eaten in four days, and it was time to get a morsel to eat before he faded away.

A portly man walked by, with his fancy tuxedo and—no doubt—a pocket full of money. The once-footman felt hope bubbling in his chest. If he could steal from this guy, he would probably be able to eat for weeks. He was crazy to think it, but he may have even been able to stay in an inn for just a night with that kind of money. He'd forgotten what it was like to sleep in a bed.

The moment was leaving him quickly as the man continued down the street, but Thomas followed, keeping close enough but not too much to alarm the man. He found the opportune moment as the man turned down the street –

And that was when the bastard turned and grabbed his hand. Unfortunately, it had been his gloved, wounded, un-cooperating devil of a hand. Thomas bit back a wince and looked up at the man who'd caught him in the act. Surprise was written on his features as he stared into eyes of the man who let him go: Downton's very own Charles Carson.

But it didn't seem that the other man recognized him. Thomas had changed a lot in six months. He'd lost a considerable amount of weight, hollowing out his face. His hair had gotten longer, shaggier, and he hadn't shaved in weeks. He was a mere shadow of the proud and powerful man from 1912. Oh, how sometimes he wished to be able to turn back time.

Carson stared, keeping hold of his hand, before realizing that he knew that face. He reached forward and ripped off the man's hat, shock overcoming him. He released Thomas' hand at once and stared at it's half-glove. He knew this man. "Thomas?" He asked in disbelief. To be honest, they had searched for Thomas once they realized he had disappeared in the night, but there had been no hope finding him until now. And—even more honestly—Carson had worried he would get into trouble. He just never expected _this._

The younger man had no idea how to react. His arm dropped to his side, and he stood hunched over, trying to hide his face. His former boss stared, recalling the same beaten puppy look he'd seen the night he told Thomas that he would be given no reference. "Sorry, Mr. Carson," He said finally after a moment's delay, "M'not looking my best right now." Thomas tried to be light-hearted, afraid to look up at him. There were tears in his eyes, shame overcoming him. He never thought he'd have to see anyone from his former life. This was a nightmare, an absolute nightmare.

"It is you, Thomas…" Carson trailed off, taking in the man's appearance, his lifestyle—what he'd been reduced to. He held the hat back out to the ruined man, speechless. "So this is what has become of you."

"S'hard to get a job with no reference," Thomas retorted, keeping his head low, "with only a background in service and nothing to show for it." He smirked, finally allowing his eyes to fixate upon the other's.

Carson's face contorted, his lips pulling into a frown; genuine guilt was written all over it. He was lost in thought, Thomas saw, but he didn't know what the man could say that would make this all better. Nothing could change his life now. As Carson finally opened his mouth to speak, Thomas interrupted him. "What even brings you to London, Mr. Carson?" The butler was never known to frequent the city, preferring his position at Downton.

"My plans in London are none of your concern, Thomas," Carson responded in his authoritative voice. It was as if nothing had changed. Thomas almost missed it. "You look absolutely horrid." He admitted, taking out his handkerchief to wipe his face. He sighed heavily, looking back down at his former first footman. "We—" He cleared his throat, "Mrs. Hughes wanted you to stay a couple more days to sort out your situation. She was upset to see you'd disappeared overnight."

Ah, Mrs. Hughes. She had encountered him as he had his breakdown outside, when he was the lowest of low. That kind woman had listened to him through his tears, offering him tea and a hug. For a moment, he had thought there was hope, but the harsh reality set in that night, resulting in his leave. Thomas smiled at the thought that she might be worried about him; she'd be the only one.

"There was no use prolonging the conclusion we would get, Mr. Carson. It was better I left when I did," Thomas responded, putting on his hat again.

"So you could make a life in the streets?" Carson challenged, bushy brow raised.

Thomas felt chagrinned, his gaze now downcast, studying the man's shoes. "I didn't plan this, no." He rubbed his thumb over his scars. His voice was weak, uncharacteristic of Thomas. "But s'no use really wanting more, is there? As you said, Mr. Carson, I'm foul. Not many people want a_ foul_ person workin' for'em."

Carson closed his eyes momentarily, knowing Thomas was right but hating that he was. He knew the man could not control how he was born, but did he really wish all this pain and suffering on Thomas? Maybe back in the days of the man's youth, when he was still wet under the nose and a little shite. But now? Miss O'Brien had tricked him, that much was sure of Mrs. Hughes, and it had led him to the loss of his life. His honest mistake had brought him here, and Carson would change the situation if he could. "The Thomas I know wouldn't have given up so easily." Carson found his voice.

"That Thomas is long gone and buried, sir. The harsh reality has hardened him 'n' opened his eyes."

The butler had not expected that answer, not one bit. Thomas had faced much in these six months or so. Carson rubbed a hand over his mouth, trying to think of a plan to help. "As much as I might regret this, I want you to stay in my hotel room tonight. I'll clean you up and get you some new clothes." He spoke, defeated. "And then I'll ring Lord Grantham or Mrs. Hughes and see what I can do…"

It wasn't that Thomas was grateful, but…

"S'not necessary, Mr. Carson. S'my own fault I'm here, really. You shouldn't have to help me back up on me feet." He spoke much more brokenly than he had at Downton, feeling no need to be prim and proper.

"I will not take no for an answer."

And so it began.


	2. A Reluctant Acceptance

A/N: I am very humbled by all of the good reception of this fic. Thank you to all my reviewers and followers; I hope I can keep up your interest in this story. I plan to update as soon as I can, with the ideas still fresh. This chapter takes the focus away from Thomas a little bit, but don't worry - next chapter will bring him back to Downton. Enjoy!

* * *

_You see t__he things I cannot change,_  
_the things that make me plain._

Mrs. Hughes hung up the phone and turned to everyone in the servant's hall who had been eagerly watching her. By her tone and by the bits and pieces they had heard of the conversation, they imagined something serious happened.

Ivy glanced at Jimmy and smiled playfully. He returned the notion, nodding his head before his attention was back on the head servant. He had felt much better since Mr. Barrow's sudden departure, but there was something deep within him that tugged at his feelings. He chose to ignore it, though, and waited for the announcement.

"Mr. Carson has run into an old acquaintance of ours." Mrs. Hughes said with finality; she wanted no questions asked. "Jimmy, I would like to see you in my office."

"Me?" Jimmy sat up, bewildered. He shot a look at Albert, who shrugged at him. "What've I done?" But before he got his answer, Mrs. Hughes disappeared from the room, leaving confusion in her wake. The blond blew out an agitated sigh before getting up, leaving Albert, Daisy, and Ivy to the card game they had started before the phone call.

* * *

"Have a seat," Mrs. Hughes said sternly, motioning to the chair across from her desk. The young first footman plopped down in the seat, crossing his arms. "You are to not say a word to anyone else outside of this room, do you understand?"

"Sorry?" Jimmy asked, sitting up attentively. What was this all about? Why did it concern him? "Uh – sure. I mean, yes. I understand."

Mrs. Hughes stared down at her hands, fumbling with a piece of paper. It was not long until she spoke again, this time with a much graver tone, "Mr. Carson has encountered Mr. Barrow—Thomas. He's currently without home, living on the streets of London. He has phoned Lord Grantham this morning, describing the situation, and his lord has agreed to allow Thomas to stay here until he gets his life back in order."

"What?" Jimmy nearly shouted and then made a fist, holding it up to his mouth for a second, calming himself. "You're going to allow him to stay here, after what he did to me—"

"May I remind you that it is_ your_ fault that Thomas has nowhere to live." Mrs. Hughes gave him her thousand-yard stare, instilling a fear into him like no other. She would never forget her last image of Thomas, hunched over the chair that Jimmy was seated in, sobbing uncontrollably as he confessed to her his sexuality. _This may shock and disgust you—_ She snapped out of her thoughts. "For his years of dedicated service to Downton, we owe him at least some time to help him get back on his feet."

Jimmy suddenly felt guilt. He agreed; it hadn't been right that a man who had put ten years of his life to just get thrown out on the streets, but he never voiced this. Not with O'Brien whispering in his ear and the challenging looks from Alfred. He rubbed a hand over his mouth, lost in thought, before nodding his head. "I don't think that would be a problem. Not at all."

"I did not think it would," She responded with a nod, knowing she had gotten her point across. "You may leave." As he got up, she spoke again, "Jimmy, I urge you to go nowhere near Mr. Barrow when he arrives."

"S'fine with me." Jimmy said with a glance over his shoulder before exiting the room. He was met with one Sarah O'Brien, who looked shocked at the news she had just heard. The blond watched her walk off and chased after her, gently grabbing her arm. "Miss O'Brien, wait—"

"Get yer hand off me, boy," The older woman challenged, yanking her arm away. "What d'you want?"

"About what you just heard," Jimmy spoke lowly, leaning close to her to whisper, "About Mr. Barrow. I don't think we need to stir up any more trouble, do you?"

O'Brien feigned being offended, placing a hand over her chest. "What ever d'you mean, Jimmy?"

The footman looked down the hall, seeing no one; they were alone. He stared into her eyes, a tight frown lining his lips. "I mean it. Let him be. I don't think anyone here will think anything less of me now that s'all over."

"We'll see about that, won't we, Jimmy?" O'Brien smiled crookedly, as if she was already planning something for Thomas' return.

Jimmy then let her leave, keeping his eyes on her until she walked around the corner, and then rested his back against the wall. He stared at the ceiling, remembering the night that caused all of this. O'Brien helped him take this too far, and now she was going to try and make things worse. He could only imagine what living on the streets must have been like. He would head Mrs. Hughes advice, of course, and stay far away from Thomas, but he couldn't help but wish he could have taken it all back.

* * *

Carson sat in the armchair by the window of his hotel room, staring at the unconscious figure on his bed. Once they had arrived, Thomas had promptly lay down and passed out. The older man wondered how long it had been since he had gotten a proper sleep, let alone a proper meal. He never felt himself drawn to Mr. Barrow, wanting him out of the house for all of the shite he put them all through, but in light of the events before his departure, Carson would admit to feeling guilty. His hands had been tied, lest they'd wanted Thomas to go to jail.

He heard a groan and a shifting of the bed. The former valet sat up groggily, brushing his fingers through his hair. For a moment, Thomas had forgotten everything. He thought he was in bed at Downton and had to wake up to help his Lordship out of bed. All of those thoughts came to a halt when he realized he didn't recognize the room. In a fright, he turned dramatically, nearly falling out of the bed. He found Carson sitting there and exhaled a breath of relief, remembering their meeting in the streets.

"Sleep well?" Carson asked, relaxing back in the chair, feeling more at ease that Thomas was awake. To be frank, he wasn't sure if the lad was going to wake upon falling into that deep sleep.

"Yes," Thomas answered honestly, still somewhat lethargic. "Thank you." He said, rubbing the tired out of his eyes. "Mr. Carson, you don't have to do this—"

"Nonsense." Carson held up his hand, silencing him. "I spoke with Lord Grantham and Mrs. Hughes while you were unconscious. Both have agreed that bringing you back to Downton would be the best course of action."

"Excuse me?" Thomas interjected, sitting on the edge of the bed. "I—" He was the one that was now speechless. Go back to Downton? But, why would they want him back there after… He shook his head, balling his hand into a fist and resting it against his knee. "That's not necessary. I don't need…"

"Lord Grantham," Mr. Carson said over him, "feels responsible for the way things transpired. He wishes to make amends by offering you some time to get back on your feet." The lord had even mentioned giving Thomas a position at the house, to try and make up for this drama, but Carson withheld that information because he wasn't sure if he agreed. "You left before we could explain the situation to his Lordship. Mrs. Hughes came to me on the night you disappeared, urging me to reason with Mr. Kent."

Barrow's mouth hung open. She had? He was overwhelmed with emotion, tears burning his eyes. "She did what?" He asked breathlessly.

"We were going to address it with you in the morning," Charles said, an ironic smile on his face, "but you'd already gone and left, Mr. Barrow."

Thomas let his head drop, his body suddenly overcome with sobs. He grasped the blanket tightly, the tears trickling down his cheeks. He had been so stupid to leave, hadn't he? At the time, he thought it was best. "I—I thought it would just be best for me to leave, to avoid further scandal." He struggled to say.

Carson was impressed with his want to avoid drama, especially with the recent loss of Lady Sybil at the time. Thomas had changed over the years, hadn't he? "As much as I appreciate the sentiment, Thomas, there was no need for that." He let the other cry for a few moments longer, feeling sympathy for the broken man before him. "I managed to accomplish my errand while you were still sleeping, so we will be on the earliest train tomorrow morning to York."

Thomas sniffled, wiping his tears away, ashamed at crying in front of Mr. Carson like this. But this news… it was enough to give him hope. Though, he couldn't help but feel a fear inside of him upon seeing Jimmy again. He didn't know if everyone would accept his return. Then again, it would only be temporary, right? He wouldn't have to worry about their judging looks for long. He'd stay just a couple of days, a week maximum, to get himself fed and well enough to try and look for jobs again.

"Yessir." Thomas said finally, accepting this kindness. Carson smiled in return, looking away, unable to hide his relief that Thomas would come. It was strange caring for this man, alas…

"Now, how about something to eat?"


	3. Arrival

A/N: Sorry about the week delay, folks! You see, I'm a film student in college, so my weeks are usually hectic. I'm going to try my best and upload a chapter a week though. Good news: spring break is soon! Uploading should be faster then. I was quite amazed at the amount of followers I gained for this story over the past week. Thank you to each and every one of you, whether you followed the story, reviewed it, or even went so far as to favoriting the story _and_ me. I am eternally grateful. I once again hope I can keep up your expectations.

Now without further ado, Chapter 3!

* * *

_I can't explain a thing;_  
_I want everything to change and stay the same._

Carson sat across from Thomas on the train and could not help but stare at the younger man as he nervously pressed against his old battle wound. Perhaps it was a habit, something he did when he was anxious. Of course, there was all the reason to be anxious, considering the circumstances. He was at a loss for a conversation topic, so he just sat in silence. The younger man didn't seem talkative right now anyway.

Meanwhile, there were a hundred and one different thoughts running through Thomas' mind. He rubbed his scar roughly, feeling the tattered glove scratch against it. It was what grounded him in this reality, because surely this would be a dream otherwise. Going back to Downton? He'd thought of all the times he wanted to leave, then stay, then leave again. Now he was going back somewhat against his wishes, but he was grateful nonetheless. A nice bed and some good food would be much appreciated. He missed Mrs. Patmore's cooking, but that was something Thomas would never admit to aloud.

He ended up closing his eyes at some point, not particularly fond of the way Carson was staring at him. He figured the old man thought he would waste away right in front of his very eyes, but that was not the case. Thomas had been a fighter his whole life, even though he just always knew how to rig the game to win his battles. But surely a couple of months on the street had not crippled him. He persevered.

"Take a picture, Mr. Carson. It will last longer," Thomas finally said, the awkward silence eating away at his very being.

"My apologies," Carson retorted, tilting his head, "I was just taking note of your unkempt appearance and how you are not presentable at all for Lord Grantham." There was a playful bite to his tone. Thomas glanced up at him, brows furrowed.

Was that a _joke?_

The giant teddy bear in front of him was smiling, his gaze now at the window. Thomas rolled his eyes and smirked in reply.

* * *

Anna sat at the table, sewing one of Lady Mary's maternity dresses. It was still early, but Lord Grantham had already woken, which meant that Bates was upstairs getting him changed. She heard a loud yawn and glanced up to see Jimmy stretching as he walked in. He rubbed a hand over his face, but it was obvious to the young woman that the footman before her had not gotten much sleep.

"Morning, Mrs. Bates," He said just before another yawn came over him. "When's breakfast?"

"Shouldn't be too long now, Jimmy," Anna responded, smiling weakly at him. "Are you all right? You look as if you haven't had a wink of sleep."

"M'just fine, Mrs. Bates," Jimmy awkwardly scratched the back of his head before dropping into a seat across from her. "'Was just thinking about something into the late hours of the night. Is that Lady Mary's?"

Anna's interest piqued, but she knew better than to pry for answers. If Jimmy did not want to speak about it, she would not force it out of him—unless it was detrimental to his mental wellbeing. "It is." She glanced down to the dress, "When Lady Mary went to sit down yesterday, the dress unfortunately ripped." She said with a slight chuckle, remembering the woman's yells for Anna immediately after.

Jimmy cracked a smile and leaned back into his chair, not needing to be all prim and proper since Mr. Carson was still away. He closed his eyes, resting his head back.

"When d'you reckon Mr. Carson will be back?" A new voice said. Jimmy didn't have to open his eyes to know it was Miss O'Brien entering. The blond frowned briefly but kept his relaxed position. "It won't be long now, will it?"

"What won't be long now, Miss O'Brien?" Mrs. Hughes asked, appearing in the doorway behind her. She had a feeling that the sneaky Irishwoman had eavesdropped on the conversation last night. "If you mean that Lady Grantham will be awaking soon, you would be correct. Now I suggest you go." She was determined not to have Sarah there when Thomas returned. "Breakfast will be waiting for you when you return."

O'Brien rolled her eyes and left. Jimmy sighed in relief, turning his attention to Elsie. "But—her curiosity is shared, Mrs. Hughes. When do you think Mr. Carson and his guest will arrive?"

"My guess is that they'll be here around lunchtime." Mrs. Hughes said, taking the seat next to Anna. She stared at Jimmy silently before sighing, knowing Carson would hate that she let the boy off work early, but… "I think you should only work a half-day today, Mr. Kent. Perhaps go to the village and enjoy yourself a bit. You've been working hard, and Mr. Carson will have returned to help with dinner."

He was silent, staring at Mrs. Hughes. See—this was what kept him up all night. Mrs. Hughes had told him that she wanted him to stay away from Thomas upon the other's arrival, but there was a part of him that wanted to see him. He had no idea why. The _man_ had sexually assaulted him. It had been disgusting, nasty… and yet when everything came down to it, he was guilty. That was that. So, he wanted to see Thomas to clear the air between them, but at the moment it didn't seem possible. "Thank you, Mrs. Hughes."

* * *

Thomas stared idly out the window of the car, taking in the familiar surroundings. It was funny: after being here for ten years, six months seemed to make him forget nearly everything. The property felt foreign to him. It was as if he didn't belong anymore. (Which, according to everyone months ago, was true.) He could feel his heart racing in his chest; the last time he felt this nervous was—well—when he was being more or less kicked out. Finally, he asked the question that had been bothering him since the inception of their journey, "Mr. Carson, is Jimmy still workin' at Downton?"

Carson gave him a knowing gaze, sighing heavily, knowing this would come up. "Yes, James is still employed at Downton. I've asked Mrs. Hughes to make sure he isn't around when you arrive."

He was both relieved and disappointed. A part of him wanted to see Jimmy again, in spite of all this. The other thought _good riddance_ even though he knew he would have to deal with the other man eventually. He rubbed a hand over his mouth and nodded his head, turning his attention back to the window. "Hopefully he won't create too much of a stir." Thomas mumbled. "I am sorry this whole thing happened." If only O'Brien hadn't made him think the other was interested…

"I know." Carson responded, which surprised him. He hadn't expected that. Then again, he hadn't expected any of this. He was grateful.

Thomas closed his eyes, relaxing back against the chair. It wouldn't be long now.

* * *

They'd lost the cricket match that year. Of course, Robert knew it was a terrible thing to think of at a time like this, considering the man they had sent away barely had a life now. Though it would have been nice if the situation had worked out; Barrow would have been an essential part of the team. Perhaps they would have won with the former valet. Alas, there was no use thinking of that now. He waited near the back entrance for the car, since Carson refused to have Thomas enter through the front. It was as if they were bringing him in like a thief in the night.

The Earl of Grantham took his handkerchief and blotted his forehead. He was not nervous about the encounter; he was more worried about the physical state of Barrow. Carson had said the young man was wasting away, near emaciation. He frowned at the thought but shook his head and replaced the handkerchief back into his pocket. He could see a tiny moving object in the distance: the car.

"Is that 'im?" A voice said behind him. Robert turned to see Tom Branson, his son-in-law. The older man quirked a brow, confused at the other's appearance.

"Tom? You need not feel obligated to welcoming Barrow back."

"I don't mind." The Irishman said, standing beside Lord Grantham, hands clasped behind his back. "He befriended Sybil, and I was on friendly terms with him. It's the least I could do."

"Very well." Robert was intrigued by this news but decided to not further comment. The two of them waited silently for the car to arrive.

Carson was out of the car first. He brushed off his coat and bowed his head to Lord Grantham and Branson. He then turned to watch Thomas get out. The former Downton employee blinked at the two men waiting for him and nearly fell out of the car. He wiped his clothes with his hands and stood at attention, chest high, eyes slightly wide. "Lord –"

"No need for formalities, Barrow." Robert approached him, holding out his hand. "It's good to see you again, lad." He took in the other's appearance. It was worst than he'd thought. He imagined Carson had been exaggerating, but his nightmares had been confirmed. It had been settled: he would give the man a second chance. (Not that he really took away his first chance to begin with.)

"Thomas," Tom nodded his head, still as stone. His face was calm, but Thomas too unnerved him. The man looked like he hadn't eaten in months, which was probably the unfortunate truth.

Before either of them could get another word in, however, someone else stepped out of the place. Jimmy Kent stood wide-eyed, surprised by the sight before him. The blond couldn't form words. Thomas was a wreck before him. It hadn't even occurred that he wanted to avoid this situation entirely. "I – _er _–"

"James!" Carson bellowed. "What are you doing out here? Why are you not dressed in livery?"

Jimmy visibly recoiled, taking a step back, uncertain. "Mrs. Hughes gave me a half-day and I was just on my way to Ripon, sir…" _Of course_, he thought, _I was supposed to be gone before you even got here. _

"Jimmy? Thomas murmured, eying the man he'd kissed, the man he'd missed… And then he looked away, turning his attention back to Lord Grantham, ignoring the footman entirely. "I would just like to thank you, sir, for giving me this second chance at life. Bless you, Lord Grantham."

Robert glanced to Tom, who shrugged, before nodding his head. "It's the least we could do after your time with us here, Barrow."

Carson was the most impressed. He glared at James once last time before clearing his throat. "Let us head inside, Thomas, and get you properly cleaned."

"Yes, Mr. Carson."

And with that, the butler took Thomas inside. Jimmy had been frozen in place, surprised by the lack of attention from the former valet. His mouth hung open incredulously, but when he heard a clear of the throat next to him, he stood tall. "Kent," Robert said, approaching him. "I do hope you won't find Barrow's stay too dreadful. I also hope that you two can sort this out. Enjoy your outing."

How could he after that? Jimmy began walking to make a show that he was going off, but his mind was consumed with the imagery of Thomas Barrow looking close to death. The man had been so proud before, but now Jimmy had seen him twice at the lowest point in his life (the first was when he saw that heartbroken expression on his face when he screamed at him to get out). He rubbed his hands over his face and glanced over his shoulder, hearing Mrs. Hughes words echo in his mind. He had to leave Thomas alone, and he would…

For now.


	4. Welcome Home

A/N: So instead of doing my homework, I wrote chapter 4. I would like to admit to a mistake I've made in the previous chapter. A reviewer pointed out to me that everyone would called Jimmy "James" since he is a footman. I've used variations of his name when mentioned or addressed by other characters. Sorry about that. I'll try to rectify that in the future. Thank you for pointing that out.

I'm a huge fan of Allen and Rob's bromance outside of the show and couldn't resist giving Tom and Thomas a bromance, so this chapter kind of starts what will become - I hope - a budding friendship between the two.

I would also like to point out that I have Daisy and Ivy at dinner in this chapter. I'm just going to ask that you ignore my little faux pas and imagine that they and Mrs. Patmore are eating dinner with everyone else tonight because of the special occasion: Thomas' return.

And once again, thank you all for your support. I'm so chuffed that you guys like it.

* * *

_Not everyone is out to screw you over._  
_Maybe, oh just maybe they just wanna get to know ya._

"You all look as if you've seen a ghost."

Thomas said nonchalantly as he sat in the chair at dinner, his eyes on the plate of food in front of him. Everyone else had their eyes on him. No one uttered a single word, so the former valet broke the silence before it drove him mad. He finally looked up and took a glance around the room. Bates was giving him a subtle worried gaze across from him. Mrs. Hughes tried her best not to stare and continued eating. Ivy and Daisy were flabbergast, and O'Brien looked like she wanted to say something but it died on her lips. Alfred and Jimmy (who had returned early from his trip to Ripon) kept turning to him after each bite.

It was frustrating. He had taken a bath, so he didn't smell. He had asked Anna if she would be so kind and give him a haircut, to which she obliged. Thomas, however, had decided not to shave. When he'd gotten a look at himself in the mirror, he decided the beard masked the hollowness a little bit. He really did look like a dead man walking, didn't he? The urge for a smoke was strong.

"Are you all right, Thomas?" Daisy found herself asking, her voice small. She had always been concerned for the older man, having been smitten with him years ago. The assistant cook bashfully looked away when Thomas met her eyes with a cold stare. He pondered for a moment before smirking.

"Can't say I've got much to complain about. But, you lot, it's impolite to stare."

And with that, everyone snapped back to their food. Thomas was grateful for the unwanted attention to stop, though Bates was still staring at him. The former valet sighed heavily and met the other's eyes. "Mr. Bates, if you've got something to say, say it. You're makin' me feel rather uncomfortable."

Carson went to speak up, to say how rude that had been from Thomas, but Bates spoke first. "Forgive me for being rude, Mr. Barrow. I believe I speak on behalf of all of us in saying that it is a surprise to have you back in such a state." Thomas wasn't sure if there was malice in his tone. The man had tried to help him just before he'd left. He didn't think that made up for everything that happened between them over the years.

Thomas cleared his throat. "I apologize if I'm intruding." He retorted, suddenly feeling very small. The problem with that statement was that he was sincere in his intent. The old Thomas would have said it with such sarcasm that the whole room would look away in disgust. But once again, nearly every pair of eyes was on him, shocked at how weak his voice sounded. This time he couldn't handle it. "I've lost my appetite." He got up suddenly and exited the room as quickly as possible.

An eerie silence was left in his wake. Carson shot a glare at Mr. Bates before sighing heavily. "Please continue eating everyone. We should leave Mr. Barrow to his own devices."

Jimmy stared at the empty chair, his food barely touched. Ivy nudged him. "What's wrong with you?" She whispered. "You're pale."

"Not feeling too good." The blond replied, shaking his head. "I'll be fine, though. Don't worry about me." He turned to give her a half-hearted smile.

"Well, if it is anything, you can tell me you know. We're friends now." Ivy smiled.

"Don't worry, Ivy. You're the first person I'll come to when I'm feelin' down." Jimmy returned the smile full force this time before turning back to his food. He needed to stop thinking about Thomas. The man had been on his mind for the entirety of his trip to Ripon. He couldn't live with the guilt of what he had done, even though it had not been entirely his fault. Ugh. He just needed to talk to him, he felt, but everyone was telling him to keep away. The unexpected meeting earlier that day proved just that. Jimmy wouldn't quit; he'd find a way.

* * *

Thomas hated crying. It gave him an insufferable headache, and it made him feel weak and vulnerable. He'd been doing it too much lately. He pressed his back against the brick wall outside. The tears streaked down his cheeks, and he squeezed his gloved hand into a fist. He didn't belong here anymore. That much was clear. Why had he come back? The promise of a warm bed and food. That was it. Seeing Jimmy wasn't even fulfilling, not with the way the man stared at him, like he was afraid of him.

He shouldn't have come back.

"Aye, Sybbie, c'me back here!"

Thomas turned, eyes wide, to see a young girl struggling to stand at the opening of the little alleyway. Was this little Sybil? He was terrified to go near her, especially like this. He'd never been good with children; his younger brother hated him dearly. He never knew what became of his sister, but that was a story for a different day. "What're you doin' out here all by yourself, little missy?" He asked, finally, voice hoarse. The tiny child seemed mesmerized by him. Thomas was tempted to take a step forward

Tom came into view seconds later, scooping up the young girl in his arms. "I knew yer just startin' to walk, but you can't runaway from Daddy like that—" He gently scolded before noticing the other man. Branson stood silently, taking in the Thomas' disheveled self in the dim light. "Thomas?" He asked hesitantly.

"Mr. Branson." Thomas said, nodding his head. He wiped his tears and mustered a smile. "And I am to assume that this is little lady Sybil?" He took a step forward. The child smiled widely at her name and held out her hands to Thomas. The older man was unsure how to react.

"Aye, she is." Tom said, curious as to why this man was outside at this time of night. "She's a little bugger. She won't sleep, so Daddy took her out for a walk. She reminds me of her rambunctious mother." The Irishman had a nostalgic smile on his face as he turned to his daughter. Those quiet months in Ireland were the best days of his life.

"I don't doubt it." Thomas chuckled softly, stepping out of the alleyway. Sybbie hadn't stopped reaching for him. "I think she wants…" He trailed off, embarrassed.

"Would ye like to hold her?" Tom asked, turning to Thomas with glazed eyes. Sybil was still a soft spot for them both. When the raven-haired man nodded, he carefully handed his daughter over to her.

"Hello there, Sybbie." He greeted bashfully. "I'm Thomas."

"Tommy!" The sprite girl repeated with a giggle. The former valet's eyes widened. No one had called him Tommy in years. "Tommy know Daddy?" She asked, her eyes big and wide and definitely Sybil Crawley's. This was a bittersweet moment for Barrow. Though at Sybbie's question, he looked at Tom, doe-eyed himself.

"Daddy knows Tommy." Tom said without skipping a beat. He put a hand on the other's shoulder, squeezing it. "Daddy used'ta work with Tommy."

"Yay! Like Tommy!"

Thomas was chuffed. The smile on his face was genuine. Tom Branson could honestly say he'd never seen anything like it. The former footman's face was glowing. Thomas laughed softly, tears trickling down his cheeks. "Tommy likes Sybbie, too. Though," He said, turning to Tom, "I think Sybbie should be getting to bed now. It is late." The little girl pouted, prompting both men to chuckle.

"Tommy's right." Tom said, taking back his daughter. "It's off to bed with ye, ya little scoundrel." She suddenly yawned and wrapped her arms around her father's neck. Tom looked back at Thomas, his smile turning into a look of concern. "Are ye all right, Thomas?"

"I wish people would stop asking me that," Thomas replied lowly. "I just had a moment of weakness, I suppose. It's nothing to worry about. Especially not you, Mr. Branson."

"Call me Tom when we're alone." Branson replied. "You and Sybil were friends. I think it would be fair to say that we can be, too. 'Specially when Sybbie's so fond of you."

"I –" Thomas didn't know what to say.

"I know what happened, Thomas." Branson interjected, "But Mrs. Hughes told me the whole story. You didn't deserve this. S'not right." And if it were anyone who would think the law was unethical, it would be Tom Branson.

Thomas awkwardly scratched the back of his head, looking away. Did everyone in the house know now? He closed his eyes but nodded. "If that's what you think, Mr. Bran—_Tom_. I appreciate it." Before the conversation could go on any longer, Thomas added, "Goodnight."

Branson took the hint and nodded his head. "Goodnight."

* * *

"Thomas."

It was late. Thomas was eating the food left out for him with a note from Daisy: _Kept this hot for ye. Try to cheer up, Mr. Barrow._ Bless her little heart. He also had been reading the paper that had been discarded, catching up on current events. Carson had entered the room abruptly, addressing him immediately. Thomas was torn between jumping up and just keeping where he was. He chose not to move, instead staring up at his former employer. "Mr. Carson?"

"His Lordship wishes to speak to you at lunch tomorrow afternoon."

"I see."

"He would appreciate it if you were clean shaven and presentable." Carson added, trying not to make this different between them. Thomas had to give him credit; he was the only one trying.

"I'll make sure to shave tomorra' mornin'." He responded with a smirk, turning to glance down at the page.

Carson didn't leave. The awkward silence made Thomas look back up at him. "I'm sorry about my behavior today at dinner. I –"

"No. Your behavior is understandable." Carson held up his hand to silence him. It was strange to have him be so nice. "I only wish to inquire how you –"

"If you're going to ask how I bloody am, then I'm bloody well fine!" Thomas nearly shouted. He had it with that question. He would be fine. If anyone else asked him, he was going to have a nervous breakdown. He was trying to expel the bad thoughts, but with everyone person who asked about his mental being, he felt the self-loathing come again. He'd deserved being on the streets, and no one could tell him differently. Thomas Barrow was a broken man, but he would rather hide the wounds than be mended. At least for now.

"I see." The butler had a knowing look on his face. Thomas didn't like it one bit. Carson sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I suggest you go to bed soon, Thomas."

"I will." Thomas was looking forward to sleeping in his old bed again. He calmed down and turned back to his paper, dismissing the older man with such an action.

* * *

The door creaked open. A figure stood in the doorway, peering at the sleeping man nestled safely in his bed. He knew he shouldn't do this, but he saw no other choice. Jimmy couldn't sleep, so he crept out of his room and went to Thomas'. It only occurred to him now that this sort of situation was what caused the other man's pain in the first place.

The blond stood there, watching Thomas silently. He looked so fragile, so lost, and yet so innocent in his sleep. It reminded him of that broken look he'd seen when he rejected him. Jimmy wasn't like that, no, but he didn't want this guilt in his chest any longer. He took a step forward but paused when Thomas turned in his sleep, mumbling something under his breath. Kent froze.

No. Not tonight. He suddenly turned on his heel and made sure to close the door behind him on his way out. Tomorrow was a new day.


	5. Under-Butler

A/N: Wow. 43 followers. You guys are honestly what keep me going. I am honored and humbled by the amount of feedback I've been getting for this story. I continue to hope that you enjoy where it's going.

What would you guys like to see in the future? I throw it out to you. I was thinking about playing with the idea of the Duke of Crowborough. But yeah, what do ya'll think?

* * *

_Well you knew it from the start,_  
_someday you'd break my heart._  
_Now we're all through, so cry, cry for me._

Thomas stood in front of the mirror the next morning, eying his beard. It wasn't the best look for him after all, but there _was_ a look he had seen on the young gentlemen in London. He leaned forward, trying to picture himself with it… Well, why not? He could always shave it off if it didn't work. He wet and lathered his face with shaving cream, and then took the straight blade to his face…

* * *

"There you are, Mr. Barrow! You were late for breakfast this mornin', so I had Ivy keep something aside for ye." Mrs. Patmore said when the younger man appeared by the kitchen doorway. She finally got a good look at him. The bags under his eyes were less prominent than they had been the day before, but he still looked too thin. And that was when she saw it. "Ye've got a little dirt on your upper lip –"

Wait. That was no dirt. Was that a _mustache?_

"What? Don't like it?" Thomas asked, leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen. "I think it's unique. It rather suits me."

"These radical fashions – I'll never understand 'em." Patmore replied with a roll of her eyes. "Just wait until Mr. Carson sees you. You might make his heart stop."

Thomas smirked. It was good to see that she was not treating him any differently. He noticed the plate off to the side and went to go retrieve it. "I'll be sure to flaunt it off in front of him, then." He took the plate, turning back to her. She shook her head, smiling.

"There's tea on the table in the servant's hall. Holler if you need more. Now shoo! M'in the middle of makin' breakfast for the family!" And with that, she shooed him out.

He was in the servant's hall in no time, smiling at the smell of his breakfast. Mrs. Patmore was going to spoil him, wasn't she? Though, his happy thoughts were suddenly killed by the thought that this wouldn't last. He would be leaving Downton by the end of the week. He'd already decided. Maybe he could muster some sort of reference out of Carson –

"Blimey, what's happen to your face?" O'Brien said from her chair, eying Thomas suspiciously.

"What's happened to yours?" Thomas retorted, taking the seat across from her. He began to eat in silence, not wanting to talk to her. Not after everything. He knew this was all her fault, and he was bitter. He'd find a way to get back at her.

She seemed preoccupied with shining her Ladyship's jewelry, but it wasn't long until she spoke up again. "Must be nice to mooch off Lord Grantham's kindness. How long do you think he'll let you stay until he kicks you back out to the streets?"

Thomas never understood how such a cruel woman could exist in the world. He recalled their once friendship, when she wrote him encouraging words during the war so he didn't lose his sanity. He hummed as he shoved some food into his mouth, ignoring her for a good moment or so. Finally, he blotted his mouth with a napkin and gave her an honest, cruel stare.

O'Brien could see the hurt in them, of a man who had gone through a lot of shit in his life but hadn't deserved it. But what was much more prominent, and she hadn't expected anything less, was the genuine hatred blazing in his gray hues. She could see his loneliness, his anger, his desperation. Thomas had never been the one to have his walls down, but here was the real him before her – one she had only met very few times in her life here at Downton. A fear bubbled in her chest, but she kept her gaze as nonchalant and unfazed as she could.

"Miss O'Brien, tell me. Do you know what it's like to live on the streets?" Thomas asked, voice lacking the emotions pouring through his pores, surrounding him like air. He licked his lips, not waiting for her answer, and glanced away. "This is the second time in my life where I've had to fend for myself. You like thinking that this was all a game and that you won, but I think you were very malicious in your attempts. Had Mr. Carson not found me, I'd be dead before Christmas."

"Why couldn't you just find a job?" O'Brien found herself biting back, wanting to fight against him, even though she felt guilt that it had come to this.

"Don't you think I tried!?" Thomas slammed his hands against the table, standing, knocking his chair back. His eyes were glistening with tears, his teeth ground together. "D'you think it's that easy?" He growled, leaning forward, staring menacingly into her eyes.

O'Brien recoiled, but before she could respond, Carson had run in. "What's all this shouting!? What's going on!"

Thomas turned to him, face red. He was about to speak, but his head was pounding. His vision blurring. Everything started spinning, and his body crumpled to the floor. He could feel hands touching him, grabbing him, shaking him. _Thomas! Thomas, boy, look at me! _But his world faded…

* * *

Alfred found O'Brien smoking outside sometime later. Thomas had been unconscious for only a short amount of time. Dr. Clarkson said something about overexertion but the man would be just fine. It was a relief to the footman, even though he wasn't quite sure why. He did wish good health on the other man, especially after seeing his state the day he arrived.

"Auntie Sarah?" He asked, since they were in the solace of their own privacy. The older woman turned to him, hands shaking ever so slightly, looking as if she had seen a ghost. "Oy, are you all right?"

"Just fine, Alfred." The Irishwoman muttered, turning away from him. "Why are you out here?"

"I heard Mr. Barrow had been yellin' at you when he fainted. I hoped he wasn't too unkind."

"S'my fault he's like this." Sarah found herself murmuring. "I'm not entirely heartless, you know. I wanted him out of this house and out of service, but I didn't want to kill him. After all we been through, he didn't deserve that." She paused, closing her eyes, her shoulders slouching ever so slightly. "When he was yellin' at me like that, I remembered a boy terrified from war…" And she had. Thomas had come back a broken man from the Great War, and O'Brien had watched him slowly put the pieces back together, albeit haphazardly, it seemed. It had shocked her then, and it terrified her now. She tried to wrack her brain, to understand why it had brought them to this, but she couldn't find an answer. Not right now, with her mind so muddled. O'Brien sighed heavily, smoke drifting from her nose.

"I didn't think you did," Alfred murmured, but he listened to her. She and Mr. Barrow had had a history, but by the time he showed up things had changed. He wondered but only shrugged. "I wouldn't worry about it too much, Auntie. He'll be all right. I imagine it's a bit of shock, the transition from a good life to a life on the streets, and then back again."

"He's a survivor. He'll be fine," O'Brien murmured, dropping the cigarette to the floor. She almost felt remorse for it all. Perhaps she would go easy on him. For now, at least, until he got his life back together. "Now back inside with ye. Carson'll have a fit if you're late for lunch."

* * *

"I heard about your fall this morning, Barrow. Are you all right?"

Thomas stared across from Lord Grantham, uncomfortable in the soft armchair of the library. He felt out of place, and the pounding in his head hadn't stopped since his tumble. He tried to keep a professional look on his face, but with the emotions fighting inside of him it was hard. He forced a smile. "Just fine, sir. Dr. Clarkson said it would happen as my body adjusts." He didn't finish the statement, certain Robert didn't care for those details. The doctor did tell him to be careful, though. His body couldn't handle a lot right now, not until it was properly nourished.

"I see." Robert said, rubbing a hand over his face. "This has been quite the drama, has it not? I wish to put an end to this. I cannot let one of my best workers be thrown out of the streets like a dog." Thomas wasn't sure where this was going, so he kept silent and listened. "You see, I've had quite some time to think about this since Carson's call those days ago. I want to put you back on Downton's staff as an under-butler."

"What?" Thomas asked quite loudly, eyes widened. He hadn't expected that. Not in the slightest. He then cleared this throat, "What I mean to say is, are you certain?" He could bring great shame to this family because of his sexual preferences. Could Robert Crawley really give him a second chance, though? Especially after everything he had done in his youth – the stealing, the lying… It was just hard to believe. He needed a pinching, to be honest. This felt like a dream.

"Of course." The Earl responded, a warm smile on his face. "In spite of you affliction, I never saw anything unsavory about your interactions with any of the men on staff and upstairs. From what I've heard of this incident, it is not entirely your fault. Sometimes we cannot help the ones we love," He drifted off in thought, thinking of Cora and how their marriage had raised some drama all those years ago. "Barrow, you're a hard worker and trustworthy. I know that one day I will be able to trust you with Downton as head butler. You just need to _be here_ for that to happen."

The sincerity in his voice and in his eyes made Thomas feel nauseous. He didn't deserve this kindness, not after anything. He was too choked up with emotion to speak, instead pressing his lips together into a thin line.

"I was sad to see you go like a thief in the night." Robert continued, "Carson does not know of my plans for you, but I will be speaking with him should you agree to come back and work for Downton. Now, my good man, what do you say?"

Thomas thought he was going to faint again.

* * *

"Under-butler?" Daisy asked, taking the seat next to Alfred at the servant's table. Thomas sat smoking a fag near the head of the table and shrugged, glancing to her.

"I'm not quite sure what an under-butler does, but I suppose I'll learn." He took this chance to glance at the other footman. Jimmy's expression was unreadable. Thomas supposed he was going to have to have a word with him. Carson hadn't been so keen to let him back on staff, but Robert knew how to persuade his butler. Then again, Carson wouldn't have been able to say no anyway. How Thomas managed to get good graces with Grantham was astonishing and beyond him.

This had changed everything, too. He had only planned to stay there a few days, but he would be lying if he denied his joy of staying—in spite of the other night and his quarrel with O'Brien. Downton had been his home, and it would be a long, hard road to get on everyone's good graces again…. But Thomas always liked a challenge. He would be given reduced duties until Clarkson cleared him.

"That sounds exciting," Ivy said, sitting on Jimmy's left. "I'm sure you'll do just fine at your new position, Mr. Barrow. It's good to have you back." She smiled sweetly. Thomas was surprised by the girl's honest words. Did she really mean them? He wondered about the other's reactions—

"Does this mean you're our superior?" Alfred asked, eyes narrowed.

"Of course it does, Alfred. I just hope he can keep his hands to himself." Jimmy responded, turning to look Thomas dead in the eyes. Immediately the footman regretted it, seeing the man's hollow gaze. He looked away and rolled his eyes, taking a sip of tea.

"Tha's not nice, Jimmy—" Daisy scolded before turning to see Thomas get up and walk out of the room. The assistant cook got up and hurried after him. "Thomas!"

The under-butler turned to her, eyes bloodshot, mouth turned into a scowl. "What is it, Daisy?"

"Don't take what Jimmy's said to heart." Daisy said, moving close to him. It was interesting to see how much he'd changed throughout the years, and she felt sorry for him. "He's just a stupid boy saying stupid things." She turned to the doorway of the servant's hall and shook her head. "You don't deserve that after everything."

"But I do, don't I?" Thomas responded. He'd been on an emotional rollercoaster lately. First he was happy to return, then sad, then happy, and now once again he was regretting this decision. His self-hatred was worn on his sleeve, written all over his face, and Daisy could not help but hug him, pulling him close to her.

"No." She said softly against his ear. "We're all honestly glad to have you back. There's been this awkwardness at dinner without you there. We all thought you were dead, and that left a sour taste in our mouths."

Thomas paused before smiling. "Are you sure that wasn't just Mrs. Patmore's cookin'?" Daisy pulled away and playfully hit his arm. She was happy to see him not look so down, even though it was still there, twinkling in his eyes like a dull star.

"I know wha' happened. I got it out of Mrs. Patmore once she found out." She murmured, "I don't blame you. He's quite a looker that Jimmy. I can see why Ivy looks at 'em that way." Thomas' expression was a mixture between confusion and desperation, so she continued. "I've known since Mrs. Patmore called you a troubled soul." She smiled. So, she didn't hold it against him. That Daisy… Thomas didn't know why he deserved her kindness, not after the way he'd treated her in the past, but he accepted it. He smiled at her weakly.

"Thank you."

"Now what's with that mustache of yours?"

* * *

Jimmy stood at the doorframe, having gotten a dirty look from Ivy and Alfred upon his comment. He overheard Daisy and Thomas' conversation and felt the guilt swell in his chest all over again. Why did he say those things? Why did he do this to himself? He decided to enter the hallway and passed them to head back to his quarters, but in truth he stood outside of the former valet's door, waiting for him. They needed a talk. He didn't care that everyone was telling him not to. He'd had a nightmare about Thomas the night before, seeing him dead in the street after watching him lying in bed, and he couldn't take it. So maybe that's why he retorted quite maliciously at the table.

But when he saw Thomas at the end of the hallway, he found himself wanting to run away. He kept his stance, waiting for the under-butler to approach. Thomas met his eyes. He stopped. "I'm not going to touch you –"

"I'm sorry." Jimmy interjected. "We need to talk."


End file.
